


Saigo no Tanabata

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: Bullets [6]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fuck the KGB, Goodbyes, M/M, Valoris, because they deserve one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: Commenting my ficlet "Fix your tie", TheUsagi1995 said: "Your story reminded me those anime with the star-crossed lovers which were not allowed to be together because of the society" and my mind immediately thought of Tanabata, so I wrote a story where, after the trial, Valery and Boris meet one last time to say goodbye.





	Saigo no Tanabata

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheUsagi1995](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUsagi1995/gifts).



Moscow, December 31th, 1987

 

The old clock hanging on the wall ticks noisily.

Time seems to stretch, dense and viscous.

It's half past ten p.m. and the Kurchatov Institute is almost empty by now. Only a few lab technicians and janitors are still there, buy they too are rushing to finish their job, to go home and celebrate the new year.

Only Valery Legasov sits at his desk, in the small windowless office on the fifth floor that smells like dust, where he was relegated after the trial, a pile of obsolete documents in front of him, as useless as his presence at the Institute has become.

Charkov stayed true to his threat to delete him from history and society.

 _Damnatio memoriae_ , as the Latins said.

Even the KGB agent assigned to control him has already left the building, and whoever had to take over hasn’t arrived yet.

Well, it’s not that tonight Valery will do anything different from the other days, he has nothing to celebrate, or someone to celebrate with.

Only a year earlier, instead...

He squints his eyes, trying to chase away that memory, that is now like a sweet poison, but it's too late.

 

_Pripyat, December 31th, 1986_

 

_It’s the new year’s eve, a special day even in Chernobyl. General Tarakanov granted a few hours off duty to all liquidators, to let them celebrate. They deserve it. Some of them will not see another new year._

_Someone found a record player and some vinyls, probably recovered in a store of Pripyat, and the Polissya hotel lounge had been turned into a dance floor; they all are quite drunk already, but they laugh and joke, having fun._

_Valery is leaning against the wall, shy as ever. He turned down the invitation to dance by two doctors of the camp infirmary, because he normally stumbles in his own steps and dancing is not really for him; however, he is enjoying the festive atmosphere._

_At one point during the evening, out of the corner of his eye he sees Boris at the foot of the stairs leading to the rooms. He nods to him and then goes upstairs._

_Valery waits a few more minutes, then left the lounge; no one is looking at him, in the general confusion._

_Boris is in his room, standing in front of the window; Valery gets in and locks the door behind him. On the table there are two metal cups and a plastic bucket, the neck of a bottle emerging from it._

_"What's this?"_

_Boris shrugs._

_"A little present."_

_Valery lifts the bottle from the ice and reads the label: Veuve Clicquot._

_"Is it true French champagne?" He asks, widening his eyes, "Borja, where did you find it?"_

_Goods like that cannot be found in the Soviet Union. Valery doesn't even know if it's legal._

_"Oh, diplomatic trips abroad are a nuisance, but they have their positive implications. I was just waiting for the right occasion to open it."_

_"Here?"_

_An abandoned city, that will end up in ruins before mankind can set foot in it again, the skeleton of Reactor 4 that can be seen in the distance, a lugubrious omen of death... it seems neither the place nor the ideal moment for a toast._

_"With you," Boris answers._

_Although they have known each other for months, Boris has still this extraordinary ability to catch him off-guard with a kind word or gesture._

_Boris takes the bottle from his hands and opens it, though midnight hasn't struck yet, but it doesn't matter. After all, for them time is flowing faster than for other people, they can afford not to respect traditions._

_Valery brings the cup to his lips: the bubbles of the champagne feel odd in his mouth, it’s not as strong as vodka, but it has a rich and fruity taste, and a pleasant scent._

_Boris is sitting on the window sill, his feet resting on the chair where Valery sits._

_"How would you celebrate the new year if you weren't here?" Valery asks. He is usually a quiet person, but when he is with Boris he always wants to talk._

_"With a swim in the Moskva."_

_"Oh no," Valery covers his eyes with one hand._

_"Why? It's a tradition! I do it every year."_

_"And I bet you are the first to go into the water and the last to come out."_

_"Obviously," he replies proudly, "you should try it too."_

_"No thanks: some friends forced me to do it once, and... never again, really."_

_"How did it go?"_

_"What do you think? I caught pneumonia."_

_"I don't even know why I asked you," Boris looks at him fondly._

_Valery finishes the champagne and doesn't fuss when Boris fills his cup again._

_"It's good, it's really good, but I don't have a present for you..." he whispers, apologizing with his eyes._

_"Not yet," Boris replies, his voice low and full of promises._

_Valery is still laughing when Boris claims his lips._

 

Moscow, December 31th, 1987

 

Valery sags against the back of the chair and inhales deeply to stop the tears.

The worst part of his conviction isn’t to see scientists less competent than him to obtain a promotion, isn’t to be relegated to the role of a useless pen pusher, and not even to have been betrayed by a system in which he had believed. The worst part is the isolation, not having anyone to talk with, having lost his best friend, the rock he could always count on.

He didn't realize how much he relied on Boris and drew strength from him, how important he  was, until they were separated so suddenly.

"No contact with them," Charkov ruled, and he obeyed, because he knows that otherwise Boris would get in trouble, but he couldn't even say goodbye to him, just watching him while the car took him away, back to his old life now that is now a prison without bars.

He never stopped thinking about him, and the pain of the absence is as strong as the first day, despite months having passed. The fact that they live in the same city, just a few kilometers away, only exacerbates his loneliness.

A violent coughing fit interrupts his somber thoughts, and when he removes the handkerchief from his mouth, there are new bloodstains.

He is so used to it by now that it no longer frightens him.

It will not take long, and his mind has already begun to plan his end, with the meticulousness typical of a scientist.

But if only he could see Boris one last time... there were words he wanted to tell him as they sat on that bench, words that got stuck in his throat, because they were too big, and because the moment was wrong, with Boris telling him that he was dying.

And now he'll never able to tell them, he will bring that regret to the grave, because he has no way of contacting Boris, he is too naive to escape KGB surveillance, and he is alone with no help.

He looks at the clock: only a quarter of an hour has passed: he is right, time has slowed down since he returned to Moscow.

He sighs and gets up, puts on his coat and turns off the light in his room, then he hears a noise down the corridor.

He frowns, because the janitors have already been there, there should be no one on that floor, but he hears the noise again, so he steps into the corridor, trying to figure out where it comes from.

He is passing in front of a dark office, when the door opens and someone grabs him from behind, pressing a hand over his mouth and dragging him inside. Valery tries in vain to break free, then a dearest voice whispers: "Don't shout Valera, it's me."

For a moment he is too afraid to turn around, he is afraid that it’s just a hallucination and there is no one behind him, but then the voice calls him again, gently, "Valera," and in that one word is enclosed a whole world.

"Borja..." he gasps, and finally turns around.

Boris has changed, and it’s clear that he is ill: he has lost hair, and a lot of weight too, but his eyes are exactly as he remembers them, even in the shadows of the room, alert and clever, and focused only on him. There’s a hint of a smile on his thin lips, and his voice is veiled with melancholy when he speaks again.

"Hello Valera, I missed you."

Valery is on him in an instant, his head in the hollow of Boris’ shoulder, his arms around his waist; his knees threaten to give way, but Boris supports him with his embrace. Despite all that he is going through, he is still his rock.

Valery doesn't even try to hold back the tears, and when Boris puts his lips on his almost bald head, he hears him sobbing.

Valery would like nothing more than to remain like this forever, until the end, but reality makes its way quickly into his thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" He whispers fearfully, raising his head to look at him, "Borja, if they find you, it will end badly."

"Don't worry, I’ve everything under control," he replies with a normal volume of voice, and Valery is even more scared: has he lost his mind, perhaps? It was Boris who taught him that there are eyes and ears everywhere.

"Hush!"

"Calm down: this isn’t the room of a colleague of yours, but of the KGB man who spies on you, so it’s the only room where there are no microphones."

No, he hasn’t lost his mind, he is always the same Boris, sharp and pragmatic.

The thought risks to make him cry again.

"How are you?" Boris asks, assessing his condition.

Valery shakes his head: by now it’s clear that they are both dying, and he doesn’t want to waste time talking about this. He puts his head back on Boris’ chest and closes his eyes, while Boris strokes his back.

"Do you need anything?" Boris insists.

"I needed this," he murmurs, nuzzling his nose on his shirt, "It seems that you always manage to give me a gift for the new year. How did you get here? I thought you were controlled too."

"I am, but the agents who follow me believe that I’m in the hospital for a check right now. I have been studying a way to meet you for months, since the end of the trial: I thought of you, constantly."

Boris's voice almost breaks and Valery hugs him harder.

"Me too Borja, always. I miss your company and our chats."

"Not only that, I hope."

In spite of everything, Valery gives a tremulous laugh: "No, not only that. How long do we have?"

"Not much," he sighs bitterly, stroking his cheek, "and I don't know if I'll have a chance to see you again. Forgive me Valera."

"No, no, it's fine. I didn't dare to hope to see you again. It’s fine," he repeats, "even if it's for the last time." Without any apparent reason, he thinks back to a story he read as a teen. "Now we are like the separate lovers of the Tanabata legend."

"Tana-what?"

Valery raises his head to look into his eyes: "Tanabata: it's a Japanese legend. It's about two lovers, Orihime and Hikoboshi, represented by the stars Vega and Altair. They loved each other very much, but they were separated by the Milky Way, and since then they can only meet once a year, the seventh day of the seventh lunar month."

"How do you know a Japanese legend?"

"Before turning to nuclear physics, I liked literature."

"You never told me about it."

"We haven’t had the time to talk," he sighs, then, because he doesn’t want to fall prey of regrets, he adds: "If I remember correctly, you preferred to do something else with me."

Finally even Boris laughs, that rough and powerful sound that makes Valery’s stomach do a somersault every time.

"You’ve become cheeky, I like it."

Boris takes his face in his hands and kisses him on the forehead, then rocks him gently.

"Valera?"

"Hm?"

"Do you regret not having taken another path in life?"

"No," Valery says with a confident voice. Despite the illness that’s devouring them, despite their efforts in the end were in vain, he isn’t sorry, because he was able to get to know Boris. And perhaps no one will recognize their efforts and what they have done, but the two of them know it.

"I wanted to do more for you, Valera. I wanted to protect you and fight Charkov..."

Valery shuts him by placing two fingers on his lips.

"You did a lot for me, more than anyone else in my life. I really mean it, Borja."

It's time, Valery thinks, it’s time to tell him what he couldn't confess on that bench, but a noise makes them start: someone called the elevator.

Boris closes his eyes and takes a breath, as if to give himself courage.

"I have to go."

"No, wait…"

In an instant Boris' lips are on his, hot and furious, rough and desperate, in a kiss that is a surge of life and a brand on his soul; Valery responds to the kiss with all he has, invading his mouth with his tongue, and holding onto his arms.

Then Boris turns away from him and leaves the room.

"I have to go," he repeats.

"Borja..." Valery chases him and grabs him by the arm.

"There is no more time."

The elevator has reached the ground floor, but Valery cannot let him go like this, he will not waste this opportunity; stubbornly, he stands on tiptoe and kisses Boris one last time.

"I love you," he whispers on his lips, squeezing his hand tightly.

"Valera..."

"I love you," he repeats, because in the end, it's all that matters.

"Being loved by you was the most beautiful thing of my life," Boris' lips rest on his knuckles, in a final gesture filled with devotion, "I love you too, Valera."

Then he lets him go and disappears behind the door leading to the emergency stairs.

Valery has just the time to settle his coat and wear a mask of resigned indifference before the elevator door opens and a man comes out.

He starts when he finds Legasov in front of him, but immediately recovers and greets him with a polite nod.

"Good evening," Valery say, "why are you here at this time of the night? The Institute is closed."

"I just forgot some papers in my office," the man answers, and enters right into the room where Valery and Boris were few minutes before.

 _"Charkov will never know what happened in there,"_ Valery thinks with raw satisfaction, _"He can't take this away from me."_

The KGB spy opens a drawer, taking the first manila folder he finds, and Valery keeps the elevator door open.

"If it's just that, I wait for you."

He smiles at him naively, remembering Boris's words: _"You gave the impression of a naive idiot, and naive idiots are not a threat."_

"Oh, it's very kind of you: I'll be right there."

_"No, I'm not kind, I'm just giving Boris the time to get away. Now who’s the idiot, uh?"_

The two men leave the Institute and, once in the street, Valery turns to say goodbye.

"Well then, happy new year."

"Thank you, to you too."

Behind the KGB spy, far away at the end of the road, an indistinct figure walks fast and turns on the right into a side alley. No one sees him.

Valery walks away in the opposite direction toward the subway station, and looks up at the sky.

It’s a cloudless night; unfortunately the light pollution of Moscow is too strong and it’s hard to see the stars, but Valery knows they are there.

Vega and Altair met tonight.

For one last Tanabata.

**Author's Note:**

> "Saigo no Tanabata" is Japanese, it means "The last Tanabata".
> 
> I'm aware that in the Soviet Union there were no religious holidays, but I did a research and saw that the New Year was celebrated, so I hope I didn't write anything too weird.
> 
> Damnatio memoriae was a criminal conviction in use among the ancient Romans, consisting in the cancellation of any trace concerning a person, as if they had never existed. For example, if the name of this person was written somewhere on a stone, it was hammered out.


End file.
